Chapter 7
I’m practically jogging across campus the next morning, my backpack bouncing against my spine with each hurried step.
The sun is barely up, casting everything in that pale, watery light that makes the world look fragile and new.
I need to see Liz. I need to tell someone—anyone—about these cards before I completely lose my mind.
Not about the other thing.
Damn, definitely not about the other thing. About Devlin’s hands on me, his mouth, the way he came apart under my touch, the cruel words that followed. That stays locked away where no one can ever find it.
I’m holding myself together with duct tape and sheer willpower.
If I can just make it to Liz, if I can just talk about the Valentine’s Day card, maybe I can start processing everything else later.
Maybe I can figure out how to exist in a world where I know what Devlin Bower sounds like when he’s losing control.
I round the corner near the student center, still moving fast, and slam directly into someone.
“Jesus Christ!” Monica Vance stumbles back, her coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her travel mug. “Watch where you’re going, Wylie!”
“Sorry, sorry!” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I wasn’t—I didn’t see you.”
Monica steadies herself, pushing her dark purple-streaked hair out of her face.
She’s wearing her signature black everything—ripped jeans, vintage band t-shirt, leather jacket covered in pins. Her eyeliner is perfect, sharp enough to cut, and her expression is pure annoyance.
“Of course you didn’t see me,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Too busy thinking about your precious rescue animals to notice actual humans, right?”
I force a smile, trying to channel some of my usual diplomacy even though my brain is still stuck in a dark hallway with Devlin’s hands on my body. “Monica, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about alternative spaces—”
“Save it.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I’ve heard the speech. The music building has a waiting list. The performing arts center is booked solid. Nobody cares that Crimson Requiem needs a rehearsal space because, oh no, Valentine Wylie’s sad hamsters might not have anywhere to live.”
“They’re not hamsters, they’re—” I catch myself. “Look, I genuinely want to help. If I could find you a space, I would. You know that, right?”
Monica’s expression softens for just a fraction of a second before the armor goes back up. “What I know is that you got the room because the administration thinks you’re adorable and wholesome. Meanwhile, my band—which could actually make this school relevant in the local music scene—gets nothing.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Aha, life’s not fair, Wylie.” She takes a sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the rim. “You look like shit, by the way. What happened to you?”
My heart stutters. “Nothing. Just tired.”
“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, enjoy your exhaustion. And your building. But you don’t think I’m just going to let this go, do you?”
She walks away before I can respond, her boots clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that sounds vaguely threatening.
I stand there for a moment, letting my heart rate return to something approaching normal, then continue toward the dining hall where I’m supposed to meet Lizzy.
She’s already there, sitting at our usual table near the windows with two cups of coffee and a concerned expression.
“Val.” She stands up as I approach, pulling me into a quick hug. “You okay? Your text last night was weird.”
“Yeah, I—” I collapse into the chair across from her, suddenly exhausted. “Something happened. Something really strange.”
Liz pushes one of the coffees toward me. “Tell me.”
So I do. I tell her about the Valentine’s Day card supposedly from Devlin, about the explicit content, about confronting him and discovering he’d received one supposedly from me.
I leave out everything that happened after. The kissing. The way his voice sounded when he said my name.
By the time I’m finished, Lizzy’s face has gone through several expressions—shock, concern, and something that looks almost like fear.
“Val.” Her voice is careful. “This is serious. Someone knows you’re—” She glances around, lowering her voice. “Someone knows you’re gay.”
“I know.”
“And they’re using it to fuck with you.”
“I know.”
She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “How are you doing with all this? Really?”
I stare down at our joined hands, trying to find words.
“I don’t know yet. The situation is complicated because it’s Devlin, and he’s…
” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
“And he’s still close with Sasha, even though Sasha already moved to play professionally. They still talk all the time.”
Lizzy’s expression shifts slightly. “Have you told Sasha? About being gay?”
“No.” The word comes out flat. “Not yet.”
The truth is I’m terrified to tell him. Terrified of the scorn and the possibility that my perfect older brother might look at me differently. Might see me as less than.
“Val—”
“I will,” I interrupt. “Just not right now. Not with everything else going on.”
Liz starts to say something, then stops. Her expression changes—becomes more guarded, almost distant.
“What?” I ask.
“One of the hockey players talked to me today.” Her voice is careful, measured. “Marcus Morin. We have statistics together.”
My stomach drops. “What did he say?”
“He asked me if you were okay. Said the team thinks something strange has been happening with Devlin lately.”
“With Devlin?”
“Yeah.” She’s still holding my hand, but her grip has tightened. “Marcus said he’s been… let’s say… extremely short-tempered. Or he spaces out completely, like he’s in another world. They’re starting to get worried.”
I don’t know what to say to that. The image of Devlin from yesterday—frantic and desperate and… almost feverish—flashes through my mind.
“Although,” Liz continues, her voice turning cynical, “I don’t know if there’s any need to worry so much. Devlin Bower is a cold-blooded machine of insensitivity and immeeeense self-importance. Everything will be fine for him. It always is for bastards like that.”
Six months ago, I would have agreed immediately. Would have nodded along and added my own complaints about Devlin’s arrogance.
But now I just sit there, unable to make my mouth form the words.
“Val?”
“I think Monica might have sent them,” I say abruptly, desperate to change the subject. “The Valentine’s Day cards. She hates me for the building thing, and she’s exactly the type to pull something like this.”
Lizzy considers this. “That actually makes sense. She’s definitely vindictive enough.” She pauses. “What are you going to do?”
“Devlin said…” I swallow hard. “He said he wouldn’t let me roam around campus alone until this was sorted out. That I had to stay where he could see me.”
“He what?” Lizzy’s voice rises. “That controlling asshole! Who does he think he is?”
“I know, but—”
“Do you even go anywhere that much anyway?” She’s getting worked up now, her coffee forgotten. “And Devlin’s always busy with the team himself. He was just trying to intimidate you.”
Maybe. Or maybe he meant it.
I don’t know anymore.
* * *
The animal rescue center is quiet when I let myself in a few hours later. Just me and twelve creatures who depend on me to keep them alive.
Gerald blinks at me from his tank, unimpressed as always.
“Don’t give me that look,” I mutter, sprinkling food into his water. “You have no idea what kind of day I’m having.”
The rabbit—Clover, I’ve started calling her—hops over to the edge of her enclosure, her nose twitching. She’s getting braver, less skittish. In a few weeks, we might be able to find her a home.
I sink down onto the floor next to her cage, suddenly exhausted.
For the first time in years, I feel lonely surrounded by my animals. They usually bring me comfort, but today there’s just… emptiness.
My mind keeps drifting back to yesterday. To the feel of Devlin’s skin, hot and silky under my palm. To the sounds he made.
To the way he came apart so quickly, like he’d been holding back for too long.
And then to the cruel words that followed. The reminder that I’m stupid, naive, easy to manipulate.
I’d been dreaming of something different, I realize.
Some stupid, romantic fantasy where Devlin kissed me and everything changed between us. Where he looked at me differently.
But that’s not what happened.
He used me, then reminded me of my place.
I should have known better.
“You’re pathetic,” I tell Gerald, who continues to ignore me. “And so am I.”
I force myself to stand, to continue with feeding time, to check the camera I installed in the corner a few weeks ago for security. Everything looks normal on the monitor.
Everything except me.
* * *
It’s dark by the time I leave the rescue center, heading back toward my dorm. The campus is quiet, most students either at dinner or holed up studying.
I’m halfway across the main quad when the feeling hits me.
Someone is watching me.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. That yesterday’s events have me jumping at shadows. But the feeling persists, crawling up my spine like insects.
I deliberately veer right when I reach the square, pretending I’m heading toward the city streets instead of my dorm. If someone is following me, maybe I can lose them in the busier areas.
Behind me, footsteps quicken.
My heart starts to race. I walk faster, my hand gripping the strap of my backpack.
The footsteps match my pace.
I stop abruptly, spinning around, ready to run or scream or—
Devlin steps out of the shadows.
He’s not even trying to hide anymore, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim streetlights. His hair is slightly disheveled, his expression unreadable in the darkness.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“What the hell are you doing?” My voice comes out shakier than I want it to. “Are you following me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no apology.
“Why?”
He takes a step closer, and I instinctively step back. Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration.
“Because I told you,” he says quietly. “You don’t go anywhere alone until this is sorted.”
“Well, I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly.” His voice is dry, almost mocking, but there’s an edge to it I don’t recognize. “Is that why you were about to walk into the worst part of town alone at night?”
“I was trying to lose whoever was following me!”
“That was me.”
“I know that now!”
We’re almost shouting at each other, but keeping our voices low enough not to attract attention.